


The Four Levels of Fake Hell (Or How Crowley Secretly Plotted Revenge Against the Racist Humans Who Thought Demons Were Wimps)

by princess_schez



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2456543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princess_schez/pseuds/princess_schez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Halloween, and the Winchesters decide to visit a fake, haunted attraction for kicks... and drag the King of Hell with them. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Four Levels of Fake Hell (Or How Crowley Secretly Plotted Revenge Against the Racist Humans Who Thought Demons Were Wimps)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful friends for looking this over, and being there when I ~~annoyed them~~ needed some advice, lol.

October 31st: A day when the veil between the living and dead was thinnest; when spirits - good and evil - could run amok in the mortal world. Now it was a holiday that mortals bastardized into candy and fake scares.

Those were the good ol' days, Crowley thought bitterly as he squirmed in the backseat of the Impala, the cuffs binding him in place starting to irritate his wrists, and his temper. He glowered at the Winchesters upfront, but they simply ignored him. Huffing, he finally spoke up. "You two sad excuses for humanity do realize I've held up my end of the agreement? Again, I might add," he snarled through gritted teeth. "Crowley, we need some lore. Crowley, we need to know how to kill it. Crowley, this, Crowley, that. Crowley, my brother is being an incurable pain-in-the-ass!" he added in a mocking tone, to which Dean finally shot a deadly look in the rear-view mirror.

That finally got one of them to pay him some attention.

"I want these cuffs off. Now."

Dean chuckled. "Not a chance, you bastard. You're stuck with us until we reach the bunker, then your ass is going right back in the basement."

"You are aware that -"

"Save it for someone who actually cares, Crowley," Sam added, a smirk clearly evident in his tone.

Crowley muttered darkly under his breath. And they said he was the evil one. Puh-lease.

They drove on in silence for who knows how long, an endless sea of black road and green pasture, passing through one small, hick town after another. It was the ultimate in torture, and Crowley would know, he was the bloody King of Hell. After awhile, as day slowly turned into evening and they drove through what seemed like the fiftieth town, Dean spoke up again. "Look at that, Sammy. They're setting up haunted houses for Halloween here."

"Yeah, remember when we were kids and went through one one year with dad? He kept going on and on about how inaccurate they were."

"I remember dad almost going apeshit on that manager," Dean said with a laugh, and doing a perfect imitation of their father, added, "Ghosts can't actually pick up knives, they're incorporeal!"

Sam and Dean chuckled at the memory as Crowley rolled his eyes at being forced to join them in their voyage down memory lane. Surely torture shouldn't be this painful.... Though the more he thought about it, this particular brand of torture would be the perfect companion piece to his neverending queue. Such a thought gave him a glimmer of hope....

"Hey, we should check one out again, just for old time's sake," Dean said, breaking the demon's reverie.

-0-

Around them, the sounds of spooky music piped in on speakers filled the air as did the shrieks of terror from the patrons as costumed figures dressed as demons chased them around with bloodied axes and chainsaws. That however, wasn't the worst of it. That came in the form of them actually waiting in the admission line to partake of said erroneous evil as Dean paid for their tickets.

"The Portal to Hell? Seriously? Like _that_ is even remotely scary," Crowley muttered, giving the Winchesters his best evil eye, hoping this was some kind of twisted joke they decided to play on him. Well if it was, he wasn't finding the humor in it. At all.

"Don't listen to him," Dean smiled at the teenage girl, dressed like a devil, complete with sparkly horns and a pitchfork, which made Crowley almost gag at the sight. "He's just cranky because he didn't get his nappy time yet."

If Crowley had use of his hands, Dean would've been smacked upside his ever-loving head, but as it stood, he was still bound, though now he had his jacket covering the shackles. Instead, he just scowled at the elder Winchester as Sam poked him in the back to get him moving, shepherding him like useless cattle.

"Seriously, this is an affront to everything evil," Crowley spat as they walked toward the attraction. "It's racist. Complete and utter _racism_ against demons. We don't have pitchforks or sparkly horns, unless it's something out of fucking _Twilight_ , and -" he stopped for a moment as he eyed the entranceway where a grey-ish and blood-covered demon with a forked-tongue greeted them ominously. It looked at him weirdly, but Crowley narrowed his eyes and the thing disappeared inside the attraction. "And we don't have forked tongues. For the love of Beelzebub, can't you mortals get anything right?"

"Crowley, stop being a douche and lighten up, alright?" Sam hissed, putting the kibosh on the King of Hell's tirade before anyone could hear him as they made their way inside the dark attraction. "It's all meant for fun."

Yes, fun. Crowley seriously had to wonder what depraved person thought walking through a fake Hell would be a "fun" idea. Why had he never met said person before? But he kept his mouth shut, instead glaring at the overgrown Moose with all the hate and dark emotions he could muster at that particular moment.

"Stop that, Crowley, you look constipated."

Inside, everything was pitch black, save for a lonely red light in the distance that cast everything in its faded hue. A faint mist blew over them as Crowley looked around the darkness, his perfect demonic vision allowing him to see everything clearly. He could make out chains attached to the walls where "half-dead" human sacrifices were chained up, some cackling, others looking like they were being eaten by a carnivorous monstrosity while over in the corner sat a cauldron full of what looked like blood boiling over as a cackling "demon" stirred the pot. The whole thing vaguely reminded him of Alastair's last summer barbecue... before Hell's inquisitor met his end at the hands of the Moose.

The King of the real Hell huffed. Mortals simply had no idea what Hell was really like. If they thought this was the worst, well, they would certainly be in for a shock when they saw the real thing. So far, this was merely a child's playground. Besides, not all demons were ravenous for the long pig. Some, like himself, had rather refined palates, thank you very much.

Turning to leave, one of the victims reached up and tried to grab hold of Crowley's arm, but he wrenched it away quickly. "Watch it, love, this is an expensive Armani suit."

Up ahead, Sam and Dean were already heading into the next room, laughing like two buffoons as a figure in costume tried to sneak up on them. The uncanny Winchester sixth sense for knowing when something was behind them made the brothers turn, the person in costume skulking away, the element of surprise now gone.

Sighing, Crowley grabbed his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and slid the jacket to the side as he began fiddling around with his phone, figuring if he was going to be stuck in fake-Hell, he could at least conduct some business for the real Hell. Time waited for no demon, and he was waiting for an all-important text concerning a deal he was still brokering, seven months later, with the Russian president. Man was proving more difficult than even worth the trouble.

Head down, he scrolled though his text messages as he followed in the steps of the Winchesters who were in the adjacent room, where other fake demons were whipping their "victims" with various sharp objects and instruments. The "tortured souls" screamed, the sound almost like music to the demon's ears. Peeking up, Crowley felt his face curve into a small smirk. They were on the right path with this one, but still miles out of the ballpark.

"Crowley, will you get the lead out?" Dean hissed, motioning for him to hurry it along.

"Bite me, Squirrel," he muttered under his breath, but picking up the pace nonetheless, face still glued to the phone as a message from one of his trusted advisors appeared.

"Are-are you texting?" Sam whispered, noticing the faint glow from the phone in the demon's hands.

"So what? I'm just attending to some important business while I'm stuck traipsing in here with you lot," he sneered in hushed tones.

Dean grabbed the phone out of his hands and shoved it into his back jeans pocket, leading to some whining on Crowley's part. "If you're good, you'll get it back later. Maybe."

The demon narrowed his eyes at the hunter, wishing he could smack that smug, smart ass-ness right out of him. Dean was intentionally pissing him off now, he was sure of it. But life was a cold, cruel mistress as Crowley had so recently discovered, and he'd just have to bid his time....

Settling for muttering a few Enochian curses under his breath, Crowley entered the third room with the Winchesters, unsure of what to expect in this one. Though quietly he swore to himself that if there was more stereo-typing of the entire evil race, he would see to it that the person who thought it up knew only endless torture for eternity. However, the next room was completely and utterly dark, and by the looks of it, empty. It was the perfect atmosphere to let ones mortal imagination run wild, which was by far a very scary thing in its own right. Around him, the Winchesters were still adjusting to the sudden lack of light, but again his demonic vision took over and he took the opportunity to stroll around.

Sulking, the demon waited for something - anything - to jump out and scare them, or at least attempt to... as there wasn't anything out there that could scare him. He'd seen, done, and handed out orders far worse than anything here. Huffing, nothing happened, yet, he saw a faint glow coming from Dean's ass, meaning that he just received another text.

Damn it, that was probably the one he was waiting for. And, making a mental note, decided that he would have to burn his phone when he got it back.

"You know, I don't get something," Crowley spoke up, just loud enough for the brothers to hear. "Why do you two want to see people in costume try and scare you, pretending to be things that they barely have a basic grasp or understanding of, when you two have seen and lived the real deal?"

He watched as Dean's face turned in the direction of Crowley's voice. "For the love of... look, Crowley, it's just human nature. People just like the scare, and we like not having to worry about being killed by them."

"Besides, they're only humans playing a role they were hired for," Sam added.

Crowley made to comment, when he turned, realizing they weren't alone anymore in the room. Something began creeping up on Sam, and the King smirked, watching as the hunter's instincts kicked in, hands shot out in front of him as they made contact with the freaky clown, completely unaware. He could sense the hunter's heartbeat quickening, the fear building, as the realization dawned on the younger Winchester of just what was in front of him.

A black light came on overhead, illuminating the evil clown... correction, the evil, blood spewing, knife-wielding, demon clown. It chuckled something that couldn't even be considered a laugh as it swung the knife around.

Sam was having none of it as he shoved the clown out of the way, hurtling through to the other side with something akin to a moose rampaging through a forest as the clown laughed menacingly. Dean quickly followed behind, taking the short flight of stars two at a time as Crowley brought up the rear, trying his damnedest not to fall over laughing. He had no idea why there would be clowns in Hell, but despite the horrible inaccuracy, if there was one good memory he could take away from this entire experience, this was it.

"That one got to you, didn't it, Moose?" he yelled after Sam. "Thought you said you liked the scare!" Smirking, and with a slight spring in his step, he followed them into the next section, as he heard Sam mutter, "Shut up, Crowley." The malicious smirk on his face grew by leaps and bounds... until he ran smack dab into the back of Dean.

"Dude, watch it with your hands!" the elder Winchester snarled, as he felt the demon pry himself off his back.

"Don't blame me! I wasn't the one who stopped suddenly!" Crowley growled, feeling like he was going to need a hot shower after this ordeal was over, having touched parts of Winchesters he didn't even want to think about.

"What's the hold up?" Dean asked.

"The hallway, it's-it's a little... tight!" Sam gasped, to which Crowley peeked around from behind Dean, the euphoric bliss he felt giving way to dread.

Oh. Hell. No. The Moose hadn't been lying when he said it was a little tight. The darkened hallway had narrowed to the point where one could only pass by sliding through sideways. Even turning proved difficult to achieve in the narrow quarters. Crowley let out an annoyed huff, silently vowing swift and thorough revenge. Woe be to whoever was in his way if his suit got ruined, someone would have literal Hell to pay and right now the two he'd start with were the two buffoons next to him for dragging him here in the first place. And the brothers difficulty in passing through with their muscular frames brought immeasurable happiness to him.

It was a slow and arduous trek, the wall pushing into the three of them from both sides, but the added difficulty came from the fact that Crowley's hands were still bound in front of him, pushing against his soft stomach and scraping painfully against the rough exterior of the wall, his hands soon looking like he fought a Hellhound and the Hellhound won.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the hallway started getting bigger, the walls finally giving them room to move, but the darkness still loomed over them like a heavy blanket. The three men breathed a small sigh of relief, thankful to be past the hallway... when...

"Holy crap! What was that?" Sam yelped. The hunter swung his arms around, the sounds of his hand coming into contact with skin echoing in the small room.

"OW!" Dean yelled.

"Dean, w-was that you?"

"Yeah, you just freaking smacked me!"

"Well I'm glad someone finally did."

"Shut up, Crowley," they both hissed at the same time.

"Dude, I just had my ass grabbed!" Dean hissed again.

"Me too!" the younger Winchester replied, a slight tone of incredulity in his voice.

"Might I add that I three had just been fondled?" Crowley snarled, turning around quickly to see who had dared touch the king. The whole scene would've been comical to anyone watching, seeing three grown men spinning and twirling around to see who had touched them. "Squirrel, if you-"

"Oh no, no, no, no, don't even go there, Crowley. I wouldn't touch your ass with a ten foot poll," Dean snapped, but was quickly cut off by his brother, who phrased a question that made them all hesitate.

"Well, who is touching us then if it's not any of us?"

No one had a good answer to that, and as Crowley looked around, he realized the room itself was empty, nothing and nobody in sight, not even an exit. Trapped in a room with no way out with not one but two Winchesters was obviously just cruel and unusual torture that even he didn't deserve.

"How do we get out of here?" Sam asked, hands in front as he began feeling around for an exit of any kind.

"Good question, genius!" Crowley snapped. "There are no bloody doors!"

The reply he got was not one he was expecting; an unseen hand pushing them from behind as the floor below gave way... a maniacal laugh coming from above them as they fell into darkness before landing on something soft and... bouncy?

Up and down they went, the change a shock to their system as the loud squeaks and groans from the hinges filled the air. Outside once again, the cool, October night air felt wonderful after being inside the stuffy attraction.

The brothers rested for a moment, enjoying themselves, but Crowley not so much. Arms and legs flailing like a newborn kitten in water, he wasn't liking the feeling of bouncing up and down like a jack in the box.

"Get me down off this!" Crowley commanded.

Sam and Dean laughed, obviously enjoying the look of utter furor coloring the demon's face, or watching as he tried to straighten himself with limited use of his hands. But nothing was better - or sweeter - than seeing him take a spectacular dive once his feet hit the ground, wobbly standing on two shaky legs and brushing the dirt from himself. Grabbing his coat, he glowered at the Winchesters before turning on his heels, storming off like a diva.

He didn't make it very far though.

Walking by a large dumpster, a figure emerged from within, stopping the King of Hell dead in his tracks. In all their time together, the Winchesters had never heard Crowley scream... until that moment. A smile grew on the hunters faces as the demon ran away as fast as he legs could carry him.

The figure approached the brothers, lifting the head off his fuzzy pink Easter bunny costume.

"Was it something I said?" Garth asked.

The End.


End file.
